Phasing Through
by cartoon moomba
Summary: the phases of your life. sorcery is a powerful thing, little girl. Part II: alternate reality in which the laws of equivalent exchange come into play.
1. ONCE

**1/?? done.**

( glassshard. )

Rosie is four, and Rinoa is scared.

"Sweetheart…where are you?" She searches the house. Behind doors, behind drapes; under the beds, in the bathtub, in the garden, in the street. The living room stands empty, couches brushed to perfection, picture frames shined to a glint. Sunlight falls through the large windows – sneaking past the extravagant drapes, lighting up upon glass coffee tables and vases full of blooming roses. Rinoa treads through the hallways, bare feet padding against plush carpets, gnawing at her bottom lip in worry.

"Rosie…where are you?"

Rosie is four, and when she hides, she disappears.

_( Rinoa, Rinoa, where are you? daddy's voice from outside the door and she presses her knees against her chest tighter, tighter, because maybe then the pain will dull away. mommy's voice whispering sweet nothings in her ear – _don't be afraid little angel, it'll all be alright, i'm here with you –_ but that can't be right, because mommy is gone,_

right? )

"Mommy?"

Rinoa whirls before the fireplace – _wasn't she just in the hallway? how did rosie get here? why didn't i see her before? _– and stares at her daughter, little girl arms clasped behind her small body and gazing innocently up at her mother with eyes so reminiscent of Squall. Blue storms and silver raindrops, and Rinoa is looking into memories.

_( Caraway; "she looks a lot like you two. as long as you are happy, rinoa, then…" _

_Laguna; "she's beautiful, rinoa. don't ever let her go, like i did with squall."_

"_mom, i have a daughter now. i can't find the words to describe her. i'm sure you loved me the same way." ) _

"Mommy?"

Rinoa's fingertips trail ash from where she's resting her hand on the fireplace (_when did she last have a fire…?) _Rosie watches, _Rosette Sarah Leonhart_, and grins.

"Look what I can do, Mommy!"

Rosie is four,

Caressing a ball of flames,

And Rinoa cries.

_( Some say sorcery is hereditary. )_

-o-

( fadedmemory. )

She can't find him.

It takes her a few minutes to get past the awe of Garden's splendid décor. She stands in the center of the ballroom, champagne dress and polished heels, amidst the whirling couples moving in patterned steps – _back, side, together, front, side, twirl _– and gazes upwards at the sky. The glass reflects the light of the new SeeD, each glinting up unto the moon; amidst the sea of hazy faces and golden lights, she can see herself, blurred in the reflection, watching the stars watch over them.

A comet streaks against the velvet and she follows it with her eyes, silver against onyx, until her gaze settles on the man across the room. He watches it too, and their eyes meet on the dance floor.

She smiles.

_( Every fairytale starts off with a normal once-upon-a-time. )_

-o-

( lonelydreams. )

_**REFLECT UPON YOUR CHILDHOOD.**_

Rinoa is five again. Daddy kneels before her, his dark eyes overshadowed by clouded emotions. She watches him, startled when he puts his hands upon her shoulders.

"Daddy?"

She can smell Mommy in the air – roses and vanilla perfume, the fragrance of broken Eyes on Me lullabies sung into the night. The window drapes ruffle with a sudden breeze and she shuts her eyes against the fumes of Deling; car exhaust, cheap beer and cigarette smoke waft into the room. She wrinkles her nose in distaste, eyes still closed, grasping for Mommy's memory in the air with her senses.

She opens her eyes, and Julia Caraway's presence is gone.

A car honk sounds outside and the moment is broken. A chill runs down Rinoa's back and she freezes.

"Daddy?"

( _it was an accident, they said. the car wheeled out of control just two blocks from the caraway mansion; by the time the paramedics arrived on the scene, there was little they could do. julia caraway – _julia heartilly, bring you her eyes on me single! – _was red against gray, warmth against cold, human against stone. )_

_**these memories…**_

Daddy smiles, lifts his hands, and the next day she hides away from the stench of vodka and cigarette trails.

Rinoa begins to hate roses for a very long time.

…_**are best left forgotten.**_

-o-

( intensemadness. )

The song of war drums is a sweet melody to her ears.

She doesn't know when the war started. She doesn't remember when her blood began to thrum against her skin and her mind sung for the battle cries of her warriors, steel clashing against steel and harsh voices grating in the dry air. The land cries for blood to be spilled and its need hums in synch to her own, _thud thud thud _running through her veins, pumping the lust for the gore.

_( sanity is a glass hourglass. her mind trickles, trickles down, down, through the curves, grain by grain year by year second by second _blood for blood _until the sand is gone and squall is there to flip her upright again. )_

The land feeds on her magic. It hungers for its pulse, longs for its touch to sweep amongst the waves of SeeD crashing against each other on its soil. The land has come alive – Gaia screams for the power cursing Rinoa's blood, trapping her spirit within a polished body, four Sorceresses in One, Flare after Flare spell released into the atmosphere.

The magic is driving the planet rabid. It whispers to Rinoa sometimes, when she can no longer sleep, face pressed against the cold stone walls of the Orphanage.

_You are the one who will break us, _it says, weaving through the cobblestone road and jagged pillars. She clutches the stem of a grey flower in her hand, forehead pushed against a brick wall, images flashing behind her closed eyelids. Black SeeD, white SeeD, white sword, black magic, Sorcery.

_Squall is fighting for her._

Balamb has fallen. It is the very first battlefield of The War, mountains shattered and plains burnt with the force of their anger. The town is ghostly, red waves washing ashore broken docks, streets paved with nicks and craters. Houses lie battered, with shattered chimneys and chipped windows in the wake of Destruction's path. Burnt flags of Galbadia lie scattered through the streets, dirty and torn. The town is a reminder to all those remain, of the Sorceress' great power.

_Rosette is fighting against her._

_( seed was created to fight against the sorceress! you are not my mother anymore! my mother would never do this! )_

_( if i am not your mother, then tell me, daughter dear, what am i?)_

_( you're…you're… )_

Rinoa crushes the flower in her hand. It falls to the floor, settling among the dust and grime, and she stares at it, willing it to burn.

_( you're everything you were afraid to become. )_

_You are everything you never wanted to become, _Gaia sneers at her as the flower bursts into flames. Its petals wither and curl up unto themselves, and Rinoa stomps on the ashes, willing them to fade, fade away. A breeze picks up, as if by her will, and its reminder is swept away from the house.

"You knew this would happen."

She is alone in the room. The Orphanage is _safe _– Edea and Rinoa and Ultimecia and Rosette, four greatest Sorceresses of time, seeking Time Compression. _( who started this goal anyhow? ) _The Orphanage is blessed, cursed, but most of all it is harmless. Nothing can touch her here.

A sneer. "You should have listened to me, foolish girl."

Rinoa refuses to listen to the Voice. Gaia twists under its command and hums in agreement, thrumming with life to bring death to its surface. Soon enough _white SeeD – _**black SeeD **will be gone and it will be just her, her Knight, and her Enemy, all tied under the bond of Sorcery.

_( no two sorceresses may exist in power at the same time. hasn't adel taught you this? )_

Mother, daughter, Mother, daughter, mother, DAUGHTER, there is no limit to this insanity.

_( "ellone, you knew this would happen all along, didn't you?"_

_that's why you said to keep her safe. to keep my rosie safe._

_did you know that i would have to keep her safe from myself?_

_i'm sure you did, elle, elle,_

_didn't you, you witch, you _witch of time_?_

_you are a sorceress of your own._

_time is cruel. it does not deserve to exist.")_

-o-

( lover'squarrel. )

"Be my Knight."

Be my Knight, be my lover, be my saviour, be my protector, be my warrior, be my soulmate. Be my everything to me, now and forever, until death does us part. Love me, cherish me, protect me, hold me, kiss me, fight for me, kill for me.

"_Marry me."_

I want to stay with you forever, fight alongside you, fight _for _you, make this bond between us grow, nurture it and watch it grow stronger, bolder, thicker, until it wavers and we flicker away at this moment of time – I want to _stop_ time, so I can stay with you, now and always, caress you with my hands and enchant you with my words.

_The silence is all they need._

no words can tell how much you **mean to me. **

**-o-**


	2. UPON

**2/?? done.**

( alternatereality. )

_Doesn't anybody ever know?_

"Rinoa, sweetheart, are you okay?"

Ever dreaded roses before they burned and singing a stolen melody into cracked mirrors of a filthy pub. Too ordinary, too _bland_, poor little orphan princess, runaway and castaway.

"Rinoa?"

Slowly, meeting the eyes of the voice lulling her to bed – _ghosts aren't supposed to be this pretty, this lovely _– so warm and forgotten, and what is Julia Caraway doing here?

"The dead don't speak," bursts out of the witch's mouth; she should know this better than anyone, and she's still falling from grace and where are her wings, her crown, and her knight?

The corpse with the hijacked skin watches her for one still moment, rosy mouth and blushing cheeks (_looking more alive than the witch ever has)_ before those lips part and she smiles.

"You were out for quite the long time, dear," the hallucination speaks gradually, spoon feeding her chocolate syrup; a pause here, a break there, fragmented sentences that make her head swirl. They are deceiving, cruel, she should know this but – _why is her hand so warm?_

"I'm so glad you're okay, baby girl."

She realizes she doesn't quite remember what her mother is supposed to look like.

She's falling into an endless hole, the little Alice from fairytales getting lost in Wonderland. Except she's not blonde or small or innocent and this hospital room holds no sign of the White Rabbit. _( that girl in the yellow dress, the one with – with the eyes, the eyes that danced, what was her name? she loved the white rabbit. )_

"...and we were so worried about you."

How long has it been since she heard this voice by her side, and not from old vinyl disks scratching a steady melody – scratch scratch scratch, and wasn't there a boy who detested being called a Chicken-Wuss? ( _why is she thinking this, and why are the black lines weaving patterns on suntanned skin? ) _Why is this dead woman here, is this her punishment, her personal Hell? Is she finally dead? Why is Mommy back all over again?

"...you know that the trains are dangerous here, Rinoa, we've been telling you this for ages, yet you still..."

The Cheshire Cat, the one with the gun and the smirk and the tall figure against the sun, he's the one making all of this up. Mama is supposed to be dead, she's not a little _girl, _she's RINOA, ULTIMECIA, EDEA, what the hell is she doing here and who the fuck is in Julia Caraway's body?

"What kind of bullshit is this?" She rasps out her thoughts before she can do damage control, voice rusty from lack of proper use and hints of a time transcending accent creeping in.

The pretty face buried underneath cracked glass that she herself saw being lowered into the ground twists into a very alive frown.

"What have I told you about that language?" Mother scolds and Rinny is five again, staring at her bruised knees and pristine carpets, listening – "Princess, please, don't start any fights again." This is not a fight though, and - _I haven't been a child in a very long time_, she thinks, but it doesn't really matter, because shouldn't at least one person in this room be already dead?

"Where's Squall?" Escapes out of her mouth and Julia smiles in intrigue.

"Who is that, hun?"

There is always the law of equivalent exchange, _the beautiful White Queen told her once, and she is never wrong._ How many centuries have passed by, and does Hell ever look like Heaven in someone else's eyes?


End file.
